Faith
by Amber Lee1
Summary: This is a story I began that is actually my life, retold by a fictional character. Although it is an original story, it is structured like V.C. Andrews' books, and inspired by her storytelling style. Please read and review!


Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own anything of V.C. Andrews. This is my original story, characters, plot, everything. But it is inspired by V.C. Andrews' series style.

I've always considered myself to be a generally good person. Ever since I was a baby, I've been brought up to attend church, to help people, and to live the best life God could want for me. My life hasn't been exactly hard. I've been blessed with a wonderful home life, friends, and just people who love me. I know some people aren't as lucky, but my life story has its own interesting plot. And I think telling it could inspire people who go through the same things.

We lived in a city in Ohio called Youngstown. We moved there from Austintown, a suburb of Youngstown, when I was about four, maybe three. Our house was exceptionally big, although we weren't rich. From what I saw, we were comfortable in finances. My dad worked as a manager of a popular restaurant, and my mom stayed home as a homemaker. I had a normal childhood, probably better than most kids.

When I was twelve years old, my parents got divorced. It was extremely unexpected, so when my parents finally told me, of course, I cried. I remember the day well. I was sitting in the family room, reading a book. I always was a big reader, but not a bookworm. I had to go to the bathroom, so I walked through the kitchen, into the hall, and to the bathroom. On the kitchen counter, there was a note. My parents always left notes on the counter to each other, if they had a phone message, or just something they thought they'd forget to say or do. At the age of twelve, I was, and still am, a very curious person, so I remember reading the note, looking around to make sure no one was around before I did so.

_Are we going to buy Jamie separate birthday gifts?_

I knew it was in my father's handwriting, but it confused me because my parents always bought us gifts together on our birthdays. It was never "this one is from mom, and this one is from dad". I put it out of my mind, and just went about the rest of my day.

I don't remember now what happened next, but I remember having some reason to ask about the note.

"Mom, why did the note ask about getting Jamie separate birthday presents?" I asked her.

"Faith, why were you reading things on the counter? Those notes aren't for your eyes," she responded sternly. Of course, I knew I shouldn't have seen it, but I did and I wanted to know what it was about.

"I just happened to see it," I told her.

"I'll talk to you about it later," she said, looking for a way to get out of telling me at the moment. I shrugged it off and went to do my own thing. But later, my mom sat me down in the living room, and said she needed to talk to me. Little butterflies began beating their wings rapidly in my stomach. I didn't like the look on her face. It made me think something bad was about to happen. It was.

"Faith, your dad and I are getting a divorce," she said bluntly. I was so shocked I didn't speak. I waited for her to say more, because at the moment, this just didn't make sense.

"It's just not working, and don't think it's because of you or your sisters. It's not at all. We both still love you, but we don't love each other like we used to. It's complicated," she explained. I still was shocked.

"Who's moving out?" I asked shakily. I was scared because I loved both of my parents, and didn't want either of them to move out.

"You're dad," she answered quietly. "It's usually the father who moves out." I began to cry. She hugged me, and we sat there for a long time, just me crying. Then she called my sister Destiny into the room, and I sat there while she told her, too. Beside Destiny and Jamie, I had one other sister named Lila. My parents chose somewhat odd names, but I thought they were pretty, and unique. Why care what people thought about you anyway?

Soon enough, all of us four had found out that our parents were splitting up for good, and it didn't sit well with Destiny. She charged up to her room and shut the door. I stood outside and I could hear her sobbing. It made my heart break, despite the many times we fought. I was the oldest, then Destiny, then Lila, and finally, Jamie. My little sisters, Lila and Jamie, were very upset too, because they were what I would call "Daddy's little girls". It broke my heart to see them crying that afternoon. I had mixed feelings on the whole thing.

I loved my dad, and my mom. I had never been that close to my dad, so I was sadder about him having to leave us, because I knew he loved us more than anything. He was always the softy when it came to punishing us. My dad came home from work that day, not knowing my mother had told us about what was going to happen.

"When is Daddy moving out?" I asked her, after I had calmed down a bit.

"In two days," she answered, as if I would have expected it. _Two days? _I thought. When exactly were they planning on telling me? Saddness was replaced by anger. I was twelve years old and they were treating me as if I was stupid. Like I wouldn't have figured it out until he actually moved. How long were they going to wait to tell me? Would I have been told at all if I hadn't asked?

When Daddy came home, my mother told him that she had told us about what was happening. He got upset, because he said they were supposed to tell us together. It didn't matter to me; it was still happening. That night, he sat with us on the couch and talked to us about it. It was only the second time I had ever seen my father cry, that I could remember. I guess there were warning signs that things weren't going well that I failed to pick up, until that note, of course. I never saw my parents kiss, or even hug. They basically lived in the same house. I never witnessed a fight or even an arguement, and I guess that led me to believe everything was just fine.

I used to think I was lucky because all my friends at school had parents that were divorced. I almost felt weird that my parents were still together. When I found out they too were splitting up, it felt so unrealistic. It wasn't happening; not to me.

I don't much remember the day my father moved out. He moved into a small, but comfortable apartment, only a couple minutes from where my mother lived. He picked us up for three days every week. It didn't take very long to get accustomed to this, and things all went well again. I felt comfortable; safe. It became routine, and now I can't even imagine having my parents together again.

My mother had to find a job, because we no longer had any income apart from the child support checks we received from my father. I thought it was a bit much for him to have to give, because we were with him just about as much as we were with my mother, and he didn't make a fortune at his job.

The church we went to was a fairly small church, but I loved all the people who went there. They also ran a school there, and a day care. My mom got a job at the day care. She was a morning person, so she worked the opening shift. During the summer, I would have to get up early to go to work with her. I hated every minute of it, because I too, was treated like a little child there, and I have an independent streak about me. Sometimes, clients from the daycare asked my mother to babysit for them outside of the daycare. She made extra money that way, and that's how we met my current step-brothers.

My mom began to babysit for a man named Rob, who also had his four boys in the daycare. His sons, Ryan, Sean, Jake, and Nathan, were all around me and my sisters' ages. When my mother babysat for them at our house, we played together, and became pretty much like friends. Little did I know, they'd become more than friends.

A couple months later, I found out that my mom was dating their dad. My mom was in financial trouble, being a single parent, and he was helping her with money. I liked Rob well enough. He was funny, and joked around with me. Almost every weekend, we would go to the park, all together. We would bring pizza and have picnics. Ryan, Sean, Destiny, and I, being the four oldest, would walk down to the creek, just talking and hanging out. It was fun for me. This continued for awhile, throughout the fall.

Sometime in December, my mother came to me and asked how I felt about Rob.

"He's nice," I replied, slowly. "Why?"

"Because, I want to marry him. I love him, and he's asked me to marry him," she answered. "If we got married, the boys would be your step-brothers. We'd all live in the same house," she explained. Of course, I knew that. I was young, but not stupid. However, I wanted my mother to be happy, and I didn't mind the boys, or their father, so I said that I wouldn't have problems with it. Neither did my sisters when she asked them.

On the last day of December of that year, my mother married in a small courthouse. Our house was larger than the boys' house was, so they moved in with us, and changed to our school. I was in sixth grade at that time, and I remember it so well. It was all fun for me then. Kids at school were always asking me questions about my newly-extended family. I enjoyed the attention. We often got the nickname "The Brady Bunch", because of having four boys and four girls. That got annoying to me, so I now despise that sitcom.

Then, another change occured. My mother became pregnant, with twins. One day at dinner, my mother wasn't feeling well, and she went to the bathroom. When she came out, I could tell something was wrong, but she wouldn't tell me about it. The next day, she went to the doctor and when she came home, she was crying.

"I was pregnant," she told me. "I was going to have a baby. It was unplanned and I didn't even know about it until yesterday...when I miscarried." I was extremely sad. I liked babies, and I know she felt guilty because she hadn't wanted another baby, and she felt that God had taken it away from her, by having her miscarry. However, she began to have other odd symptoms. She went back to the doctor and found out that she was going to have twins. The miscarriage was only with one, and the other was still alive. Even though it had been unplanned, she still loved the baby. It was to be a boy, and so preparations for the new baby began.

People were worried that my mother was having a baby in her late thirties, but luckily, everything turned out okay. He was born in June, and was named Adam.

Sometimes I felt as though I were Adam's mother. My mother had quit working the daycare, and gotten a job as a cook at a nursing home, and we were left at home with my stepfather. He worked as a truck-driver, and so he wasn't always up to caring for a baby. I got very angry at my mother for having me take on so much responsibility. We had quit going to church, and I had no means of escape, of relaxation. My stepfather had changed since we first met him. He became very strict, and from what I heard from the boys, he had been like that always. Just not to us. I disliked how he was always so serious. Nothing could be lighthearted to him. But I never told my mother how I felt. I never was good at speaking my mind to my parents. I know it seems as though I exaggerate about how bad I had it. I know people have it so much worse than I did. But to me, my life had taken a turn that I didn't like and wanted out of. I felt as if my childhood had been rushed out of, so that now I had to take care of my family.

My mother changed alot when she remarried. She became more strict, and sometimes I felt it was unreasonable. They came up with stupid, petty rules in the house. If we forgot to turn off a light, we had to go to bed a half hour early. One form of punishment they used was to sit in the living room, not talking, with nothing to do but sit there. It was basically time out. By this time I was thirteen, and I was being punished as if I were in kindergarten! If we left out any toys or clothes, or a bit of paper, or anything on the floor when we left a room, we had to "sit" for two hours. To me, this was incredibly unreasonable. Especially when all you did was have a toy out of place. I felt as though I had to walk around backwards to make sure I wasn't leaving anything behind, or forgetting anything. I hated feeling so self-concious in my own house. I felt as if I was being followed around the house, and I waited for my mother or stepfather to say, "Faith, you sit an hour. You left the basement door opened."

Among these petty rules, they were things like you couldn't have anything on the couch. No toys, books, anything. This was to prevent things from falling in between the cushions, but I refused to read sitting on the floor. No leaving lights on when you left a room, no leaving the basement door open, no touching the walls, no running, even if it wasn't really running, no eating between meals, no having anything out of place in your bedroom, and we were closely inspected while doing chores. If we didn't do things in the right order, we had to sit, or go to bed early. This just seemed so annoying and petty to me, even if it doesn't to you.

Things went on like this for a long time. My mother and stepfather even kept a notebook, writing down each little thing we did, and what punishment we got. If you saw your name in the book, you knew you had to sit or go to bed early. But another rule was no looking at the book. If you did, that was a punishment too. Eventually, things started to lighten up a bit, but it still drove me crazy, how closely I was watched. I felt as though I couldn't breathe. I couldn't feel comfortable in my own home, and would rather be at school than at home.


End file.
